2013:
The Zombies Take Manhattan
by Louise Ann Barton
Cover Image: Jhdt Stock Images Llc | Dreamstime.com
ebook Copyright 2013 ISBN 9781301059447
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced, or utilized in any form, or by any device, electronic or mechanical, or by other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including photocopying, or recording, or any information or retrieval system, without written permission from the author. The characters and plot herein are not based on any person living or dead, and are the product of the author’s imagination.
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2013:
THE ZOMBIES TAKE MANHATTAN
Louise Ann Barton
It’s the spring of 2013, the time of the great Zombie Apocalypse. Upper Manhattan is the last area to fall and mystery writer, Christine Chambers, and her kitty take refuge inside the Cloisters museum. Hiding in the castle, surrounded by iron gates, steep ramparts, and secret passages, she is soon joined by a madman, hungry animals, and evolving zombies.
It is to be noted that our government has officially announced there are no such things as zombies and there will be no zombie apocalypse. They have also denied the existence of mermaids. Be that as it may, our civilization has fallen.
Most of this account has been taken from Christine Chambers’ diary...
A DESPERATE DECISION
"Now is the winter of my discontent," the Fireman growled. Dressed in his usual black shirt and trousers, he resembles a young Clint Eastwood, mysterious, grim, and too often silent. A giant of a man, he stretched out his muscular frame on the rim of the outer terrace wall of the Cuxa Cloister. Balancing precariously, he risks a drop of several stories to the cobbled path below.
"It’s spring," I correct gently, still amazed that a notorious serial killer and I ended up taking refuge together in the Cloisters museum. Even more amazed that no zombie had yet infiltrated the castle or its grounds.
"We’re the last two humans left on Earth," I insist. "We’ve been blessed with plenty to eat and a snug stronghold. And all the gardens are in bloom." I stared at the Fireman with wonder. He would have been considered handsome, in a rugged way, if not for his expressionless eyes. Easy to see, no soul resided there.
"I need to go out!" he snarls. "I need to set someone … or something … on fire!" His strange green eyes stray to Katmandu. Resembling a miniature panther, the little Bombay’s golden orbs boldly meet the madman’s stare.
Snatching up my precious pet, I snap back. "This cat is out of bounds! You agreed!"
"Then flaming zombies it is," he grunts. "As soon as it’s dark, I’ll use the tunnels. Don’t wait up."
"You know I can’t sleep knowing one of them could slip inside while you’re coming and going."
He roars, "Then go to the ramparts and watch for the flames." He brushes past me, uncomfortably close. Bigger than Frankenstein’s monster, blotting out the sun as he moves about. It was easy to see why his victims never had a chance.
"Suit yourself," I mutter and carry kitty off to the safety of my sleeping quarters. The Fireman often became murderous after darkness fell and it was prudent to plan a safe retreat. Then, while the last rays of daylight still remained, I returned to the garden and hastily scraped the leftovers from our dinner plates into the compost pile.
This would later be used to fertilize our vegetable beds as our confinement made recycling a necessity. Happily, the electricity and water continued to function without interruption, and everything was soon washed and put away.
The zombies would have noticed any light or fire after dark, so any cooking or reading had to be accomplished during daylight hours. I hasten to the gift shop while there is still enough light to search for a medieval cookbook. After a few minutes, I choose a beautifully illustrated book of bread and cake recipes. I carry this prize back to my room, then betake myself to the ramparts to watch zombies burning against the night sky.
Later, with my chamber doors bolted shut and the German, stained-glass windows carefully covered to mask the flickering candle flame, I hop into bed, and cuddle up with a warm cat.
Leafing through the pages, in no time at all, I come upon a chocolate cake recipe. Almost all the ingredients are on hand save eggs, which could be substituted with either the powdered kind or mayonnaise, and tomorrow would be another day. Once I’d closed the book and snuffed the candle, my mind retraced the decision that had brought me here, remembering the last TV newscast as if it were yesterday.
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